


White Out

by TalesOfOnyxBats



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blizzards & Snowstorms, F/M, Frostbite, Hypothermia, Romance, Sickfic, Snow, Sokkla Saturday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesOfOnyxBats/pseuds/TalesOfOnyxBats
Summary: While on vacation to a ski resort, Azula and Sokka get stranded in a blizzard.
Relationships: Azula/Sokka (Avatar)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	White Out

Night has already fallen, snowflakes stand sharply out against a dark sky. Outside the wind shrieks, throwing blasts of snow against the side of the resort. A fire blazes in fireplace and the TV blares the same warning, ‘Caution: Winter Weather Advisory in Effect. Blizzard. Low Temperatures Across The Map’. And as it scrolls, ‘Stay Inside If Possible.’ Across the town jobs have sent workers home and schools, were it not winter break, wouldn’t have opened at all. The advisory closes with a deep and loud buzz, Zuko knows that it will be back within the next half hour. 

“They aren’t back yet.” Katara hasn’t stopped pacing since the first snow flake collided with the windowpane. Now that it is snowing more heavily she is visibly shaking. 

“I’m sure that they’re on their way.” Zuko smiles. It is the nervous sort of smile. The kind that intends reassurance but betrays stress. “Azula was probably nagging Sokka to head back the minute they got to the top of the mountain.” 

“But Sokka is annoyingly persistent. The last time we went skiing, we almost got stranded because they forgot that we went up for one more round.” Katara shares. She swallows and her look of horror amplifies. “Oh, gosh, Zuko...what if they…? All of the workers were sent home. What if…”

“They wouldn’t have just left them.” 

“Mistakes happen, Zuko!”

He moves away from the fireplace and comes to stand in front of the lobby doors. A later car pulls in, fishtailing on the ice and narrowly missing the ‘handicapped only’ sign. The car comes to a halt in the snowback. He watches the man decide to forget about his luggage for the night. He hustles his children inside. 

“‘S cold one out there.” He remarks with a good natured laugh as he passes by. 

“Yeah, I can feel it from here.” He agrees. 

**.oOo.**

His tears are born of frustration and fear. And regret. They freeze to his cheeks as soon as he sheds them. Azula has gone nearly still hours ago. He holds her against his chest, he thinks that her eyes might be frozen shut, snow clings to her lashes and her cheeks have gone from flushed with cold to a deathly pale. 

To think that it had been such a good day. They’d gone up the mountain feeling cozy and enthusiastic. His hand was cupped around a steaming coffee and she had ordered white hot chocolate. Since sunrise she had been beating him down the mountain and the scoreboard was tipped so heavily in her favor (especially with the bonus points she had amassed for all of her tricks) that his only hope was to beat her in their final winner takes all competition. 

Despite feeling bitter to the highest degree, he’d let her rest her head on his shoulder as the ski lift climbed. There was already a sharp chill in the air, the first sign of the forewarned snow storm. 

“Are you sure?” Azula asked for the seventh time that he had bothered to count. “It’s supposed to be a bad storm.”

“You’re just afraid that I’m going to kick your ass this time!”

He remembers her frown that look of determination that had cut through her reluctance. He supposes that those were the words that had sealed her fate. The words that he will hate himself for, for the rest of his life. Though he isn’t sure that the rest of his life is that long anyhow. 

“I’m not afraid. I’ll win.” She had folded her arms across her chest. 

He looks at her stiff figure. He wishes that she did win, that she would just wake up and brag about how she’s surviving much better than he. But the fact is that she has always been more susceptible to the cold. She has been since they were children. But she always has been too stubborn to admit it; she would let her nose get bright red and runny before admitting that she wanted to go inside. He would always have to pretend that he was really cold too just to keep her from catching a cold. 

Small as she is and with no extra padding, she doesn’t really stand a chance even wrapped in his coat and her own; and here is no going inside this time. 

“I’m sorry, Azula. This is my fault.” He brushes a mittened hand over her face. Her hair is brittle, the strands plastered together with ice. He thinks that she doesn’t look human anymore, more like a doll or a mannequin. A snow covered statue. He holds his hand to her chest just to feel it rise and full, to feel the terrifyingly slow beat of her heart. 

All he can do is pray and think over how things had come to unfold. They had made it to the top of the mountain and a good halfway down it. By then the flurries had started, the winds had began to gust with more force and Azula seemed to grow visibly concerned. She was more subdued, less talkative and harrowingly less competitive. He should have known to just cave and head back when she told him that it was fine and that he could just ‘have his stupid fucking victory’. But he was still high on happiness and adventure. He was still pumped and ready to continue their contest, he wanted to win fair and square. 

By the time that he realized that they were in trouble visibility had dropped drastically. In mere seconds, they were in white out conditions. Azula was already shaking rather violently, her face a bright red and it wasn’t with anger. She, in fact, was looking almost meek and teary beneath a very forced bravado. 

The determination never left her face.

He thinks that it is still there now. 

They wandered for some time before Azula began to slow. “Sokka, I’m really cold.” She’d whispered. He remembers because for a while she simply kept repeating it, over and over again until he’d handed over his coat. Even then she kept up the mantra. Her shivering seeming to increase by the minute. 

And then her mantra had evaporated into silence until she grew delirious enough to speak again. She started telling him about the time she and Zuko built a snowman with their father. He remembers none of it, probably because her speech was slurred to the point that he could only pick out, ‘Zuzu’, ‘father’, and ‘snowman’. The rest of the story had been garbled and indecipherable.

He had let her keep talking.

She had asked for his coat.

He reminded her that she already had it.

He was freezing his ass off. 

Ten minutes later she asked again.

And then another ten minutes later. 

He doesn’t think that she could remember asking him at all. 

And then he had to fight with her as she tried to take her clothes off. 

And now she is still in his arms. 

And now he wants to go still too.

He hugs her tighter and rubs his cheek against hers. At least when they’re found, they’ll be found together and Zuko and Katara will know that they hadn’t been alone nor separated. That they had each other until the very end. Azula did anyhow, not that anyone else would be able to determine that. 

For some reason, he expected her to open her mouth and murmur a final parting word. 

He is so tired. 

**.oOo.**

The conditions are much too perilous for a search party. They promise to send in the morning. Zuko notes the grim undertone. The search party that they will send out tomorrow will mostly be looking for bodies buried in the snow. And who knows how far from the path they have stayed. Sokka is an idiot—he tries not to say as much in front of Katara—and Azula is a fighter. He can’t imagine that they stayed in once place.

“Well!? What did they say? Are they sending people out?”

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Let’s go back to the room, Katara.”

“Zuko.” Her eyes grow misty. “Zuko no. They have to send someone. They can’t just...oh Zuko.” She flops down on one of the lobby sofas.

“Katara,” he says softly, “we can’t stay here all night.”

“But what if they get back?” She asks. “We have to be here.”

“You need some sleep. The desk clerk will give us a call if anyone comes in.”

But she doesn’t budge and nothing he can do will make her. She doesn’t move an inch until the door crashes open causing her to jerk.

Sokka makes it only just inside before swaying on his feet and collapsing. Azula falls with him.

And Zuko chokes. He wishes that he wouldn’t have brought her back. He’d rather hear that she froze to death than see it for himself.

He glares at Sokka. At his best friend. And he wishes that the boy had died too. He always got Azula into trouble. Not that she doesn’t do the same. But he knows that Sokka has caused this.

**.oOo.**

Waking up is like a dream; it is fuzzy and doesn’t make sense. Feels as though she shouldn’t be awake at all. And she supposed that she isn’t. Not entirely. Which might be why she asks, “did I win, Sokka?”

But Sokka isn’t there, she thinks that she is alone. She alone and confused. It is warm, she realizes. Warm and bundles in blankets. For a moment she doesn’t remember why this is significant.

And then it strikes her that she is in the hospital. She sits up and looks around the room, she hears the faint beeping of a heart monitor and wonders if her heart rate is healthy, she supposes that there would be doctors flocking to her if it wasn’t.

She realizes that Sokka is in the bed over, she wants to get up and go over to him, but she is tethered to her bed by IV’s and monitor wires. With nothing else to do, she lays back down. She doesn’t mean to, but she falls back asleep. She supposes that her body could use that. 

She wakes up on and off through the night but Sokka never seems to be awake when she is and the nurse informs her that Zuko and Katara have just left. And that she was going to be out of the hospital before her parents’ plane landed. She can only imagine the earful that Zuko was going to get from father. 

When she full comes around she is, as promised, back at the hotel. Her night stand is teeming with flowers and get well soon cards. She knows that Toph has received word because there is a handmade snowman that looks curiously like her, it has all of the trademarks of Poppy Beifong and all the offensive humor of her daughter. 

“You’re finally awake.” Zuko notes with a smile. “Katara got you some soup and hot chocolate from the cafe.” 

Azula rummages through her get well soon gifts, pulls out a quilt, and wraps it around herself. Once she gets to the table she inspects her hands and feet. All of her fingers and toes are accounted for. But she is terribly fatigued and her throat tickles. She is getting sick and she knows it. The soup will do her sore throat well. “Is Sokka up yet?” She asks, finding that her voice is already somewhat hoarse. 

“Right here!” He weaves. 

“This is all your fault.”

His face falls. “I know.” 

Azula frowns, torn between annoyance and sympathy. 

“We should have just gone home. I almost got you killed. I thought that you were dead.” He sputters. “I...you stopped moving and you were so cold.” 

Her aggravation dissipates. “Well I’m still here, she mutters. Here and ready to make you suffer for it.”

“I already have.” He clearly isn’t in a joking mood. She can count that as a first. He holds up his hand, it is bandaged heavily. “I gave you my gloves because I thought that you needed them more.” 

Her stomach flutters. “You lost your fingers?”

“So you didn’t have to.” He gives a sheepish smile. “Hey, it was my mistake. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.” 

“I could have just let you have your stupid victory.” She folds her arms over her chest. She finishes her soup and sits down on his lap. “You’re warm, Sokka.” 

He kisses the crook of her neck and she feels his arms wrap around her torso. “You’re hot.”

“I know.” She takes his formerly frostbitten hand and lifts it up to observe it. “Thank you for the gloves.” 

He smiles again. “I don’t mind. You always hated the cold more than I did. And besides, I was getting tired of slamming that finger in the door anyways.” 

It is a relief to hear him cracking jokes again. 

“Seriously, you two?” Katara asks.

“She’s sick, Sokka. Do you want to get sick too?” Zuko adds.

Sokka wriggles his brows before pecking her on the lips. As if to prove Zuko’s point she turns away to cough several times. 

“Go eat the rest of your soup, Azula.” 

“Already finished.” 

“You can have some of mine.” With his remaining good hand, he holds a spoonful out to her. 

She takes the spoon and holds it out for him. “You eat your own soup.” 

“Only if you help me.” 

“Alright, fine. But only because you’re missing a finger and it makes Zuko mad.” Azula replies. He leans in for a bite but she pulls the spoon away. “Did I win?”

“What?”

“The skiing competition. Did I win?”

Sokka groans. 

“I’d say that you both won.” Katara replies. 

And Azula supposes that she is right. They’d beaten the cold more or less and they had beaten death, if only barely. The night is a blur in her mind but Sokka mentions having to carry her several miles down the mountain. She won’t say it out loud, but she thinks that counts as a winner takes all sort of victory. 

She holds out the spoon for him. 

**.oOo.**

He curls up next to her in the bed. He plans on savoring it, both of their parents will be in tomorrow, weather permitting, and they will spend the rest of their vacation supervised. He doesn’t count on it, they had tried to make it out the minute Katara had made her distressed phone call.

He has another trip to the hospital the next morning, a follow up. But tonight he can relax. He can’t help but be at least somewhat bitter at how this vacation has ended up, but when Azula rolls over to face him with a sleepy murmur, he finds that it is okay. 

He watches snow building up against windowpane and Azula snuggles up against him. It is more than a relief to feel her body heat. To know that she has body heat again. Granted, she is now burning up with fever, but she seems to be doing well enough. Mostly she is drowsy and lethargic. But cold medicine keeps takes the brunt off of it as his painkillers take the edge off of his own ailment. 

She sniffles and her eyes flutter open. 

He reaches for the book on the nightstand. So far, each time she has woken up, she requested that he read her back to sleep. If he is lucky she offers to read to him until she grows too tired to continue. 

They sit up and she leans on him as he finds the page that they’d left off on. Azula wraps the blanket more tightly around them. He supposes that this trip isn’t a complete disaster after all. 


End file.
